


One Fleeting Moment

by CobaltStargazer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Heroes, Monuments, Museums, War, child character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 02:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15038900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltStargazer/pseuds/CobaltStargazer
Summary: No one has to remember the ones who come back, because they're still there. Everyone remembers the ones who don't come back, but what about the ones who are somewhere in between?





	One Fleeting Moment

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a prompt related to this late last year, and now here we are. Brace yourselves.

The interior of the Smithsonian is cool, a welcome relief after the heat of the day, and you and your classmates wander back and forth among the exhibits. The school trip is something that happens every year, but this is the first time it's been to the capital. You helped sell candy bars and participated in car washes to raise money, and when Ms. Sloane said your class had reached the necessary amount to afford the trip, it was probably the best thing that had ever happened to you.

It's a ten minute walk from the Vietnam Memorial to the largest museum in the country, but the sight of the seemingly endless wall is still with you even as you look at a display of uniforms of past wars. The tour guide said it's nearly two hundred feet long, and though it's not very tall there are thousands of names on it. Just names, no pictures, and you used your new camera to snap a couple of photographs. After leaving a letter Dad gave you propped up against the dark stone. He served in the second war in the Gulf, but he never talks about it. You thought about reading the letter, but it felt too private and too weird, like you'd be looking at something you shouldn't. It bothers you a little to know it might get rained on or, worse, thrown away. But maybe it's enough for it just to exist in the first place.

The exhibit for the Howling Commandos is still very popular, even though it's been open for longer than you've been alive. Your whole class knows the story; how they helped America win the war, fought back the Nazis, saved hundreds of lives. Probably thousands, as many lives as there are names on the black wall that represents another war. You're in the middle of the line to use the headphones for one of the audio descriptions of air combat, and you've got another roll of film to use up before the group goes home in three days. You might buy another roll, depending on how much money you have left over after dinner.

There's a very tall man standing in the crowd about three feet away. It's a Wednesday, and there's at least two other school groups here along with you and your friends. Parents and teachers mill around, trying to keep the kids corralled into something resembling order. Your parents aren't here. Mom's a nurse who works in elder care, and Dad's an electrician with his own business. You're a good kid, one they've never had to watch or worry about. The tall man is unshaven, wearing a dark jacket. A ball cap is pulled down low on his head, shielding most of his face. He's staring at the digital mural on the wall, the one of all the Commandos, Steve Rogers - Captain America - in front, their jaws set and their eyes clear as if they're just about to leave for battle.

You look too, because the line hasn't moved in a few minutes, and something _clicks_ as you swing back to face forward. The tall man is still there, his hands in his pockets, looking as if he's forgotten what door he used to come into the room. And simultaneously like he's already counted all the exits and escape routes, including any convenient windows to jump out of.

 **Barnes**.

You're staring, and worse you know you're staring, which is rude and not something you normally do. But if the Howling Commandos and their leader are heroes, if their exploits are still something schools discuss in the present, then the other one, the lost soldier who disappeared is.....something else. He's at least six feet tall, head and shoulders above the tourists who talk quietly among themselves. You don't know how they don't _notice_.

And then he's looking at you, away from the mural, and you see the confusion turn into fear. Of course he'd sense the scrutiny, and you shake your head just the tiniest fraction before stepping one inch in his direction. As if he's an animal that might run away, but oh, he's _so_ much more than that. He freezes, clearly caught between flight and something a lot more dangerous, and under the overhead lights you realize one of the hands in his pockets is metallic. A prosthetic, like the one Dad's friend Todd has but different. You just look at one another in the rise and fall of voices and movement around you. You'll be thirteen in a month. James Barnes will be....you try to calculate it right there, but it's too weird so you stop.

"Thank you."

He blinks at you; once, twice, slowly, as if he can't comprehend the idea of gratitude. And somehow you've gotten out of the line for the audio equipment, but it doesn't bother you. "For your service," you blurt. "Thank you."

His shaggy head inclines as he nods at you, and you wonder where he's been and where he's going. He doesn't look like he believes you, but that's okay. It's enough that you said the words, made them real. It's enough that they existed, if only briefly.

You reach for his hand - the real one, not the prosthetic - and he flinches before letting you make contact with his index and middle fingers. Just a second, and then he's disappearing into the crowd before you can say anything else. Gone like the shadow he became, and you know you can never tell anyone. Never _would_ tell anyone. It's too private to talk about, and no one would believe you anyway. But you know, and that's good enough.

Best school trip ever.


End file.
